


The Bee

by K1rana



Category: Rockman | Mega Man Classic
Genre: Gen, brief description of robogore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K1rana/pseuds/K1rana
Summary: There's a bee in Ring's office. A short thought piece regarding this and another black and yellow menace.





	The Bee

There’s a bee in my office.

It isn’t seeking me out; of course, it wants nothing to do with me. Its quarrel is with the window, and it throws itself against the glass as it desperately tries to get outside.

There’s another tap of its body against the pane as it repeats the action yet again, and I passively glance from my desk as it falls to the floor. Its wings flutter and its legs scramble as it works to right itself, and I frown. Each time it falls it takes longer and longer to rise again, and I wonder how many times my concentration will be interrupted by the sound of its struggles.

Just as I turn back to my work, there’s a long buzz, almost like raw electricity, and another tap as it falls again. I watch it crawl around on the floor as it regains its strength to try again. It wants to escape, it  _ needs _ to escape, to return to its natural habitat, but the windows in this office don’t open. If it were to succeed, and the force of its small body were to break the glass, it would cause far more harm than good. The broken window would be expensive to repair, and other bugs might get into the office in the meantime. They’d be subjected to the same fate as this one, if so.

But I have no desire to help it escape through some other means, even if it just interrupted me again. I had almost forgotten about it that time, it had been quietly recovering for that long. It’s just one bee, and judging by how still it becomes after this last attempt, it seems to be close to death. I wonder if it realizes it’s destroying itself by trying to break through the glass. I wonder if it cares. I wonder if it fears for its life, like humans do, if the fear drives it to charge with even more force into the very thing that’s killing it.

The bee continues to distract me from my work every so often, and I find myself growing less concerned about its plight and more irritated by its presence. I know with absolute certainty that it can’t get back outside, not the way it keeps trying to go, and now, the fact that it hasn’t given up yet is just bothersome.

When it falls again, and the seconds tick by as it lays on the floor unmoving, the thought crosses my mind that it might finally be dead. And with that thought comes the realization that I would be relieved if so; I’d finally be able to focus on my work, and the carcass would be swept up with the rest of the trash at the end of the day, never to be seen again. My office would be quiet, peaceful.

The wings splutter to life once more, clumsily lifting its bulbous body from the carpet, and instead of any pity or interest I find myself only disappointed that it’s still alive. I want this inconvenience to end.

Now that I’ve acknowledged the feeling, it remains at the forefront of my mind. I begin actively seeking for the bee to die, hoping that each time it falls will be its last. Its perseverance is not admirable but annoying.

It buzzes against the window again, a lower frequency resulting from overwhelming fatigue, and doesn’t even make a tap against the glass before it drops from the air. Its legs twitch, shudder, stretch toward the sky that it cannot reach, and finally fall still.

Now that this nuisance is gone, I can get back to work.

* * *

There’s a robot outside my window.

He isn’t seeking me out; of course, he wants nothing to do with me. His quarrel is with the boy in blue, and he throws himself at him as he desperately tries to fulfill his programmed function.

There’s another blast of energy and metal as he takes a hit yet again, and I passively glance toward my office window as he crashes to the ground below.

As I approach the window to observe the fight, I hear a soft crunch under my foot. Upon lifting it, I find the bee that was trapped in here earlier, now long dead from its fervent efforts to escape.

I look back outside and watch Forte clawing at the debris around him as he struggles to stand. His armor is charred and dented, pieces of plating missing, his body shining with exposed inner mechanisms and bleeding oil. His left arm hangs uselessly at his side, the torn cables in his shoulder visible even from this distance.

He lets out a roar, sparks flying from his damaged vocalizer, and once it reaches me it sounds more like a buzz.

I glance down at the bee again, and turn away from the window.


End file.
